A Dish Best Served Cold: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (Italian Kitchen Mystery, An) (23 page)

I
sat on the bottom step at the beach entrance to catch my breath and empty my sneakers of sand. I was only a couple of blocks from my bike, and I planned to take the first street ramp down to the sidewalk. But the minute I stood up, I caught the scent of patchouli on the breeze. I slipped back under the boardwalk and peeked through a crack in the planks. My vision was limited, but I could hear a female voice getting closer. The boards creaked over my head and I froze.

“I saw her; I know I did,” the woman said, her voice muffled by the wooden planking.

A man’s voice answered, and there was no mistaking it: Richard Barone. “Where did she go, Iris?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you!” She sounded exasperated, impatient.

“Well, how did you lose her?” Barone’s tone was calm and measured; I found that more frightening than Iris’s near hysteria.

“I don’t know!” she answered. “It’s not like following people is in my line of work.”

“We have to find her before they do,” he said, and a shiver, swift as an electric current, traveled down my spine. Who were
they
? How many people were after me? Much as I wanted to run, I needed to know. I was sure they could hear me breathing right under their feet.

“I know we have to find her, damn it!” Iris said in a harsh whisper. “I warned her to stay out of it, but she can’t help herself. Now she’s in deeper than she knows.” They dropped their voices then, and I strained to hear. Suddenly Iris’s voice came through clearly. “I saw that old bike of hers parked over at Tuckerton. Maybe we just wait there.”

“That’s our only option, then. We’ll wait for her on the street.” The voices died away, and I sank down into the sand, my heart pounding and their words echoing in my ears:
We have
to find her before they do
.
She’s in deeper than she knows.

I sat in the damp sand, heart pounding. What should I do? Go down to the street and double back to the restaurant? But Barone and Iris were heading in the same direction. Should I climb back up to the boardwalk and head east to my cottage? It was a long walk, out past the rides pier. Even if I had the energy, the memory of that red Dodge doing a slow cruise past my house was enough to give me pause. I needed help. I pulled out my phone, tapping my contacts list with trembling fingers.

“Please be around, Cal,” I whispered. “Please.” But the call went to voice mail. With my battery power at eleven percent, I tried Tim, who didn’t pick up. Why would he, given our earlier conversation? I even called our local cab company, but no driver would be available until eleven. “It’s a holiday weekend,” they reminded me. I was running out of options. I tried Sofia.

“What’s up, Vic? Where are you?”

“I’m, uh, under the boardwalk. And please don’t sing. It won’t stop playing in my head as it is.”

“What are you doing under there?”

“Hiding from Iris and Barone. And I just had a run-in with Jason Connors.” I filled her in quickly, mindful of my low battery. “So, listen, can you get here? Just park somewhere along the boards and text me. I’ll find you.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can’t. My mother showed up.”

“Did you say your
mother
is there? What, she dropped in from Florida?”

“Yes,” she hissed into the phone. Her voice grew louder. “It’s Victoria, Mom. She’s doing great. Yes. I’ll tell her,” she called out. “She sends her love.”

“I’d rather she sent me a taxi—I need to get the hell out of here. Can you get through to Danny? I texted him, but he didn’t get back to me.”

“I think he’s out of cell range, but I’ll keep trying. He’s off duty at eleven.”

“I know. I’ll just have to hang in there till then.”

“Listen, I’ll get to you somehow. I’ll tell her something. In the meantime, be careful, okay?” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to call your dad?”

“Not just yet, Sofe. I know it’s stupid, but I really don’t want to worry them. Or drag them into something that might be dangerous. Listen, I have to go; I’m just about out of battery.”

I stood up, weak-kneed, and brushed the sand from my jeans. I gripped the rail on the beach entrance and walked slowly up the steps. I was exhausted, covered in sand, and carrying a phone with a dangerously low battery. Before I reached the top step, I heard the rumbling and felt the vibration under my feet, and I knew that rescue was at hand. Waving wildly, I flagged down the red beach trolley and stumbled up the steps, blinking under the bright lights in the car. I paid the driver and flopped into a seat across from the only other riders—a tired-looking couple with two little boys who were very much awake.

“We’re goin’ on the merry-go-round,” the older one announced. His lips and teeth were blue from the snow cone that was dripping over his hand. His mother dabbed at him with a napkin while he twisted away from her.

“Yeah,” the little one piped up. “And then the teacups.” He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, losing several kernels in the process, which his father picked up, one by one.

“I used to love the merry-go-round,” I said. “But the teacups made me kind of sick.”

“Good to know,” their father said. “Maybe we’ll skip the teacups this trip.”

“Did you puke?” the older boy said, his eyes wide.

“Leave the lady alone,” their mother said, and smiled at me a little wearily.

Not for the first time, I wondered if Sofia and my brother knew what lay ahead of them once that baby came. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, fighting the urge to sleep.
Oh,
the hell with all this,
I thought,
I’m going home
. The trolley route ended at the rides pier; from there it would be a relatively short walk to my cottage, and by then Danny would be off duty. The trolley ride would put some distance between me and Barone and Iris, but who else was looking for me?
Or who else is after you?
said a voice in my head.

“We have to find her before they do,”
Barone had said. So more than one person. But who were
they
? Could it be Florence and Jason? Had Jason told a tall tale just to keep me off guard? Or . . . I sat up, my eyes wide-open now. What if the others who were looking for me meant no harm? What if they were trying to warn me? But anybody attempting to help me—my parents, Danny, Cal, or Tim—would contact me, and my phone showed no messages and no missed calls.

I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all, but in the end, there was only one plausible theory. “They” were looking for me because I had information that was damaging to them. If not Florence and Jason, it would have to be Gerry Domenica or “Jackson Manchester,” the ride operator and sometime boyfriend of Alyssa. Both men bore a lion tattoo—was that a coincidence or were they connected somehow? Were they working together? Were they at this moment searching me out somewhere on this boardwalk? I tapped my foot nervously, watching out the windows as the trolley chugged past the brightly lit stands and arcades. When it screeched to a stop, I jumped.

“Here we are,” the driver called out. “The rides pier. Final destination! Final destination, everybody!”

Final destination. Let’s hope not.
I stood up, still holding the pole for support, and hung back to let the family go out ahead of me.

“Bye, lady!” the little one said with a wave.

“Bye,” I said, “have fun.”

And watch out for crazy old gangsters and tattooed ex-cons. And desperate waitresses and lovesick women and rich, powerful men with something to hide.
Hang on to those kids,
I wanted to say as I watched them go,
because suddenly my beloved old boardwalk is a dangerous place.

I stepped off the trolley, my legs leaden and my head spinning from exhaustion and fear. I took my phone from my pocket. Almost ten thirty. The rides pier closed at eleven, and once those crowds left, the boardwalk would be deserted. What chance would I have against one or more of them?
You can’t think this way, Vic.

I slipped in among the tourists in line for fresh lemonade. Behind the stand was a small café area with a row of mirrors along its walls. I took a seat in the back; at least I could see them coming. Ditching my straw, I drained the lemonade in a few gulps and stared at my phone screen. I was at seven percent battery power. It would be thirty long minutes before I could reach Danny directly. I turned off the phone to conserve what was left of its power. Meanwhile, there were at least four people, one or more of whom might be a murderer, searching for me at this very moment. I looked around nervously, shaking the ice cubes in the bottom of my cup.
Do I make a run for home? Or do I
try to dodge them all until my brother can get here?

Well, I couldn’t do anything until I hit the ladies’ room. I stood up cautiously and slipped into the bathroom, used it hurriedly, and washed my hands. I pushed open the door with my elbow, still shaking my hands dry when the smell of patchouli reached my nose. Iris stood blocking the exit, her arms crossed.

“We’ve been looking all over for you.”

I let out a loud sigh. “I know. Where’s Richard?”

“He’s back at the table where you were sitting. We need to talk to you.”

No, I need to get out of here.
My mouth went dry and my heart pounded wildly. We were in a public place—what could they do to me in a public place? “How . . . how did you know where to find me?”

“I saw you get on the trolley. And then we drove down.” She frowned. “What does that matter, anyway? It’s
imperative
we talk to you.”

I took a step backward. “We can talk right here.”

“Victoria, you’re being ridiculous. Just come back to the table so we can explain.”

I shook my head. “I want some answers first.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! You plan to interrogate me outside the ladies’ room?”

“Yes, in fact. Let’s start with that missing scarf of yours. How did Pete get it?”

She closed her eyes briefly as though she was considering what to say. “He found it outside Richard’s house. Richard is separated, but not divorced. His lawyers had made it clear that I shouldn’t visit him there, that it might affect the settlement. And it wouldn’t look good for the foundation.” She shook her head sadly. “And Richard would do anything to protect the foundation.”

Anything? Like murder?
“So Pete was blackmailing you?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a sigh, both of resignation and relief. “For small amounts, now and then. I’d never know when he might show up at the store.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t have him hanging around the store, and I couldn’t have him bothering Richard, so I paid him to go away.” She looked at me directly. “But that’s
all
I did. Don’t you see that Richard and I are trying to help you?”

So you say, Iris.
“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“My God, you are exasperating. Just come back to the table and we’ll explain.”

“Okay. But you go first.”

She rolled her eyes but walked past me back into the café area. I followed behind her, looking for a way to make a run for it. I might be able to handle Iris, but there was no way I could get past her
and
Barone. But the table was only steps away now, and I met Barone’s dark, angry glare. Without hesitating, without even thinking, I darted past the table, past the startled faces of the other patrons, and tore through the line of people waiting for drinks. While Iris and Barone shouted behind me, I ran for my life, my feet pounding the wooden boards.

Take the sidewalk. Take the sidewalk.
But there was only one ramp to the street out here, and it was at the end of the boardwalk. I had reached the Ferris wheel; doubled over from running, I ducked behind it to catch my breath. For a wild moment, I thought about getting on it—they couldn’t chase me to the top of the ride. And my fear of heights was nothing compared to my fear of dying. But the line was long, and I’d be waiting out in the open. I shook my head. I had to keep going; I had to hang on another twenty minutes.

I stayed among the crowds near the rides, tired to the point of haziness. Here and there, people were starting to leave the boardwalk, and lights were blinking out in the stores and arcades. I moved into the shadow of the carousel house, studying the clusters of people still milling about its entrance. A broad-shouldered man with cropped hair had his back to me; when he turned, I caught the flash of white of his collar. Father Tom. Now that help was so close, I opened my mouth to call out to him, but shut it abruptly. He had his hands on his hips, a slight frown on his face. Because as I watched him, I realized that Father Tom wasn’t out for an evening stroll on the boardwalk; he was looking for somebody. And I knew that somebody was me. Was he trying to help me? I wanted to believe that, I truly did, but Pete’s will might be telling a very different story about our old family friend. I had to get out of here.

What have things come to,
I thought,
when you can’t trust a priest?
I turned cautiously, trying to stay out of his line of vision. Behind the carousel was a grassy lot and an empty stretch of boardwalk that led to the last street ramp. From there it was only a few blocks to my cottage. I would take another minute to rest; if all was clear I’d do a sprint through the lot and down to the sidewalk. The lights of the carousel house partially illuminated the empty lot, but beyond it was dark.
I’ll be running blind,
I thought with a shiver.
But I don’t have a choice.

Picking my way around trash and broken bottles, I took one step, then another, looking left, right, and back over my shoulder. I was halfway across the lot when I broke into a run. The end of the boardwalk was just ahead of me; I picked up my pace, my arms pumping, my chest still aching. The street ramp beckoned like an open palm, and I thought,
You got this, Vic. You got this
.

And that was when I saw him. He was walking up the ramp, and in the light from the street I could see the outlines of his shaved head and muscular arms. I pivoted so fast I nearly fell, but pushed back toward the grassy lot. I had nearly reached it when I heard him behind me.